


The Siren and the Sociopath

by Bowiegirl99



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Merman John, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Sherlock, the little mermaid-sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:44:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14029392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowiegirl99/pseuds/Bowiegirl99
Summary: John is a merman who is curious about the world above.Sherlock is a bored prince who falls overboard one day at sea.Desperation and the chance for something more causes dangerous things to happen.





	1. Sherlock

     Sherlock took what he felt like was the millionth trip through his castle. He was so completely and utterly _bored_. His brother, the fat arse that he was, had seen to it that Sherlock was not allowed in the weapons room, or on the firing range, or any where else that would have offered a reprieve from his boredom. He had only shot through the walls a few times, and that experiment where he had attached a spear to a gun? That had merely been a miscalculation that Mycroft had overreacted to......even if that guard had to be airlifted to the hospital. However, if Mycroft hadn't been interfering with his activities and hobbies, then none of that would have happened.

      Sherlock checked on his experiments in progress, but nothing needed his immediate attention, and he simply did not have the concentration to start something new. He felt antsy, his heart beating too fast. He wanted to do something, anything to get his body under control. The old itch of his previous drug use started rearing its ugly head. The faded track marks on his arms were starting to feel hot again, and he absently rubbed at them as he sighed deeply. He passed by his brother's study, door firmly shut as he heard him talking on the phone to someone. He stuck his tongue out at the door, having more than half a mind to burst in and ruin whatever trading deal Mycroft was trying to negotiate. However, the old lesson their parents had instilled in them, "Country above all," forbade him from doing so. He sighed and went to pace the castle grounds, _again_.

      Sherlock walked outside, towards the docks, and spotted their Captain of the Guards, Gerry, or something like that, the man with the silver hair. He had heard the ladies in the village titter over the captain, commenting on his good looks, and seeing him this close up, he supposed he had a charm about him. His accent spoke of less formal language lessons, but he knew how to clean it up when appropriate. Still, even with the silver hair and his crinkly eyes, Sherlock had entertained the notion a time or two about trying to convince him to go into the broom closet for a quick shag. Simply for experimental purposes, of course.

     He had noticed a while ago the way the captain and his brother cast heated glances at one another. Their shared looks, and body language when they were around one another, spoke of a very intimate relationship. Of course, Mycroft and Sherlock were expected to marry well, at least another prince or princess. Gender didn't matter, as long as they were of noble blood. The problem of children or who would succeed the throne was a problem that was dealt with when the time came. In some cases, there was a female member of one of the royal families who was willing, or able to be coerced into having a baby to secure the bloodline. In other cases, there were women who were interviewed, tested in every way psychologically and physically, in order to ensure that they were strong enough to carry a baby to term. Sherlock knew that his brother wouldn't be caught dead in public with the captain, but he was curious to know what would happen if he had demanded the shag from the captain. The captain couldn't refuse a direct order from a member of the royal family. He also couldn't out the relationship he shared with Mycroft either. So, what would their stalwart captain do?

     Sherlock, while he was curious to find out, never let the thought slip pass the "idea" phase. He did like the captain, to an extent of course, and he did his job rather well.

     The captain saw him approach and called his men to attention. Sherlock waved them off and looked at the small boat. It wasn't anything fancy, just a small fishing boat with a few rods and a tackle box inside. A separate box made of styrofoam, was at the bow, presumably filled with alcoholic beverages and food. It was obvious the men were going fishing, or at least were hoping to. The weather was fine for it of course, and they looked like they needed some relaxation time. The captain had granted his men at least one day off a week, in order for them to remain "in good spirits." Whatever that meant.

      "Good afternoon, your highness," the captain greeted cheerfully, "to what do we owe the pleasure? Was there something you needed?"

      Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to look at the boat; this could be a wonderful observation exercise. He could see how his guards behaved when they were free of royal responsibility, something Sherlock would never know. "How far out were you planning on going? And why are you taking a camera?" Sherlock questioned imperiously.

      The captain blushed slightly and shrugged. "We weren't going to go much farther than a couple of leagues, and the camera is for tryin' to catch a glimpse of a mermaid."

      Sherlock's head snapped up. "Mermaids?"

      "You've never heard of a mermaid before?"

      "Of course I have, don't be daft. My mother was quite fond of her fairy tales when I was younger. But that's all they are: fairy tales."

     The captain shrugged again. "You hear stories every now and again of someone coming in off of the water and raving about magical mermaids who sang to them or saved their life or something like that. Wouldn't mind having a look at one myself."

     Sherlock scoffed and inspected the boat again. "I should like to join you on your outing today captain, if it isn't too much trouble, of course." Sherlock batted his eyelashes at the men, knowing full well they couldn't refuse him. Without waiting for a response, he climbed into the boat, sat down, crossed his long legs, and waited. The men glanced at their captain, who then began barking out orders to find extra food, and another life jacket, which Sherlock refused to wear, then they set sail.

     Sherlock tried to observe them, but he wondered suddenly what he had been thinking. With him on board, there was no way they were going to behave like themselves. They were going to act like they do on the palace grounds, always on alert, keeping the prince within eyesight while scoping out for danger. Sherlock sighed and rested his head in his hands. His boredom had obviously scrambled his brain, making him unable to think clearly. He sighed again; at least the weather was nice.

     While Sherlock was staring off at nothing, and subsequently not paying attention, a rather large wave hit their boat, causing the occupants to shift. Sherlock had time to let out a small gasp as he was thrown into the air before landing in the water with a huge splash. He heard muffled shouting, but he had hit the water harder than expected, and he felt himself growing fuzzy. He tried listening for a neighboring splash, to indicate one of the guards had jumped in after him, but the fuzziness continued. He finally felt hands grab him and propel him forward as his vision faded to black.

      Sherlock came to with a heavy thumping on his back, and just when he thought the firm hand was going to crack his spine, he vomited up an incredible amount of sea water. He rolled onto his back and struggled to catch his breath. He felt a hand stoking his cheek. It was very light, almost hesitant, and he leaned lightly into the touch and the hand continued its gentle stroking. His vision was blurry, but he could distinctly make out a form, a man going by his supposed shoulder width. He assumed it was one of his guards. As he drew breath to speak and ask where he was and how long he had been out, the figure suddenly slipped below his vision.


	2. John

John swam on top of the water, trying to find something, anything, to alleviate his boredom. His long, lustrous tail propelled him towards nothing. His tail was nothing special, compared to the others. Merfolks weren't necessarily judged based on the colors of their tails, but it was a well known fact among his people that the more colorful your tail was, the more likeable you were. His tail was golden brown, sinuous, powerful yet sleek, certain scales catching the light, making it appear that there were topaz jewels scattered along it. Not the most colorful, and therefore, not the most likable. Not that people liked him anyways. 

He sighed, and dove beneath the waves. His sandy blond hair plastered to his head as he dove further below. He let out another sigh.

"Bad day, was it?" John turned his head and gave a small smile to his friend, Molly. The female octopus swam up beside him, her eight tentacles easily keeping up with the movement of John's tail. Her bright gaze eyed him curiously.

John shrugged. "Not particularly no, just....ordinary."

Molly sighed. "You shouldn't take everything Harriet says so seriously. You know she's just giving you a hard time."

"I know, I know. But, I can't help but think that she is right. I am ordinary. Even my tail is ordinary, I'm boring. No one wants to talk to me, no one ever wants to socialize with me. I'm just too...dull." He felt a pang of sadness go through him. The words rang true, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. His sister was right: he was just too boring. Earlier, she had laughed at his jealous expression when she was leaving to go out with her friends, and delivered the harsh words with a smile. John and Harriet had never really got on, but that didn't give her the excuse to be so cruel. 

Molly had so far been the only creature that wanted to spend time with him, and he was sure she felt she had some sort to obligation to him, because he had saved her by cutting her out of a human's fishing net. Somehow, that made the hurt worse. It made him feel like he was so repulsive and undesirable that someone would only like him if they felt like they were obligated to. He turned over in the water, gazing up at the surface, slowing his movements to a lazy paddle to watch the sunlight dance through the water. He had convinced himself long ago that he was content with his solitude. He reasoned that it was a good thing he didn't have to rely on anyone for anything, or be accountable to someone. He was free to do whatever he wanted and go anywhere he pleased with no one caring what he was doing at any given moment. He was free for the rest of his life...free.

The very idea made him want to kill himself. 

He wanted adventure, excitement, thrills. He wanted the blood pumping through his veins, making his very breath come out in shaky excitement. He wanted to help, to feel useful, to feel needed. But more than that, he wanted to share his wants with someone who also wanted the same things. He wanted to know that he could have a "partner in crime" of sorts. Someone who would be right by his side as he tried to catch his breath, and perhaps even take his breath away. He glanced over and saw Molly still eyeing him. He wanted so badly to reveal his inner feelings, but found he couldn't make his mouth move. A voice in his head told him that it would be a bad idea if he said anything. 

So these thoughts of adventure and excitement, with someone, festered in his mind. Never even entertaining the notion that they would someday come into reality. Nothing ever happens to me anyway, he thought with a grimace. 

A splash interrupted his thoughts. Since he was closer to the surface than he ought to have been, he heard it as if it were happening right in front of him. He immediately swam to the surface, wondering what had happened. He heard shouting, and his heart started pounding. Humans. Humans were close by. He breached the surface cautiously, he hadn't noticed a boat go by, but then again, he had been so deep in thought that maybe it had passed by. He saw a boat and mentally slapped himself for being so careless. His kind were sought after for the amusement of humans and thus, their king had told them to always be on guard and cautious. These humans, however, paid him no attention, were not even facing his direction, but were frantically looking at a space below them, calling someone's name. 

"Your Highness? Your Highness!" 

John fleetingly thought that "Your Highness" was a strange name to bestow, but humans were humans. He dove back under the water, tracking where this person might have fallen in. He looked down, down until-Aha! John flicked his tail swiftly as he caught sight of the person, sinking like a boulder. What concerned John was that he wasn't trying to kick back to the surface. He flicked his tail faster as it dawned on him that he may not have been conscious. 

He grabbed the man, as he now noticed his gender, around his middle and went to break for the surface, but found it too far away. He hadn't even realized how far they had sunk. He looked madly around, and saw Molly gesturing towards an entrance.

"He needs air!" He shouted at her. 

"I know!" She shouted back. "It's a grotto with an air pocket! Hurry!" John propelled them through the water and into the entrance. He broke the surface of the grotto and laid the man down on a rock. He wasn't breathing. John turned him over on his side and began to pound the man's back. He may have swallowed a good amount of water, and was hoping his heart was in the same place as the merfolks', so he could try and start it again.

After a few terrifying seconds, the man coughed and heaved up what seemed like a half gallon of water and laid on his back, trying to catch his breath. 

John was also trying to catch his breath, but for a different reason. The man was, putting it lightly, beautiful. And even that was an understatement. His dark curly hair complimented his pale, nearly translucent skin. His cheekbones were high, and looked ridiculously sharp, but it gave him a look of royalty and elegance. He was lean, leaner than John, who had always been teased for being on the thin side of their merfolk spectrum. This man was captivating, and John was entranced. He bit his lip and lightly reached out to stroke the man's cheek as his breath returned. He had been right about his cheekbones. The man leaned into his touch and let out a small sigh. His eyes blinked open and John felt a moment of panic. He shouldn't let this human see him, he should get out of sight. But when John saw the man's eyes, their color and the brightness in them, he couldn't bring himself to move. The man opened his mouth to speak, and that's when he felt one of Molly's tentacles wrap around where his body met his fin and pull him down below the surface.


	3. Their first meeting

John struggled against Molly's grip. His anger was bubbling towards the surface, just begging to be set free. He wanted the man to see him, and he wanted to see more of the man. He wanted to talk to him, get to know him, hear his laughter, stroke those cheekbones, caress those cupids bow lips....John shook his head to steer his brain away from where he was going, and continued to struggle against Molly's grip.

"Don't be an idiot! You can't talk to that man!"

"Who's an idiot? I wasn't going to do anything more than say a few words to him! Geez, calm down and let me go!" He tried clawing at her grip, but she just continued to tighten it against his abdomen.

"John, listen to me. You. Cannot. Talk. To. Him. Just come with me, and we'll pretend that nothing happened. Okay? Please, John. Humans are bad news."

John stopped struggling and pondered her words. Forget? How could he forget this? It was finally something exciting that was happening to him! His blood was racing just thinking about how he saved the human, and he wanted to feel this feeling again and again. His curiosity was also peaked. He could finally ask some of the questions about his species that had been running around in his brain for years. He wanted to ask the man, and he wanted to ask him now. While Molly was distracted by John's pondering, he broke free of her grip and swam towards the surface. He broke through just as Molly shouted his name. He nearly collided heads with the man, who was peering over the edge anxiously. They both let out a gasp.  
 *~~~~~~~~~~*  
Sherlock watched the figure disappear and felt a wave of anxiety course through him. He scrambled up as quickly as his fuzzy head would allow without him vomiting, and peered over the edge. He didn't see any blood staining the surface, but it was too dark in...wherever they were to really see below the surface. He wanted the figure to come back, to ask it where he was and how he could get home. But more than that, Sherlock didn't want to be alone. As he strained his eyes to try and see farther below the surface, a face bobbed up and almost knocked heads with him. He let out a gasp as did the other figure.

He then took a good look at the man, as he now saw that it was indeed a man, and felt an unfamiliar feeling flow through his veins. The man had sandy blond hair that had water running out of it and onto his shoulders. His eyes were a deep blue, just like the sapphires in his mother's crown and had these adorable crinkles at the edge of them. Sherlock shook his head. Adorable? Since when do I use words like 'adorable?' His gaze traveled down the sun-kissed skin, the broadness of the man's shoulders. His muscles were lean, but Sherlock sensed the power beneath them. Sherlock's mouth watered a little when he thought about those muscles rippling beneath his mouth as he trailed his tongue... he shook the thought away. The other man had opened his mouth and was trying to say something.

*~~~~~~~~~~*

"Ah, I'm, well...ah...." John found himself staring into the grey green eyes and finding himself at a loss for words. The man eyed him curiously, roaming over his shoulders, his face. John felt strange as he felt  
the eyes roll over his body, he felt too....hot. A feeling started stirring low in his belly and shooting warmth out to the rest of his body. He felt the flush rise into his cheeks, and shook his head against the approaching blush. He cleared his throat and tried to talk again. "I'm John." He said stupidly.

Sherlock took his eyes off of the man, John, and shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness. He was starting to feel just a tad too warm, despite the coolness of the rock he was sitting on. Sherlock clutched his head and shook it again. "Where am I?" He demanded.

John smiled. "You know," he said with a chuckle, "When someone introduces themselves, it's polite to introduce yourself back. Common courtesy and all that."

Sherlock eyed him. "Is that so? Well, I'm told that I have never been the most polite person."

"Well, there's no time like now to start."

The right side of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Sherlock." He wasn't sure why he left off his title, but his intuition had told him to do that. His intuition was rarely wrong.

John cocked his head. "Sherlock? When I breached the surface, those men in the boat were calling for 'Your Highness.' Is Sherlock a nickname?"

Sherlock stared at him a little harder. He had assumed that this man had been on their boat and he just hadn't noticed him. When he asked his name, he knew that he hadn't been a part of their party. But that just raised more questions. If he wasn't in the group that Sherlock tagged along with, then who was he? Where did he come from? There hadn't been any other boats for miles.

"I wasn't on your boat."

Sherlock widened his eyes. _Did I just speak aloud?_ "If you weren't on the boat, then where did you come from? I honestly doubt that you were in the middle of the ocean just for recreational swimming."

John's mouth twitched. "I wasn't....I was.....well......hmm." John bit his lip and pondered what to say. He wasn't sure if he should tell this man about what he was, but then again, he trusted this man. He didn't  
give off the vibe of 'I'm going to harm you' at all. And John felt in his heart of hearts that Sherlock could be trusted.

Sherlock watched as John bit his lip, feeling the warmth again. He had the sudden urge to draw that lip into his own mouth so he could bite it, then suck it until it was swollen and the most delicious shade of red, and then he would reach down between John's legs and stroke his-Sherlock shook his head again. His once tame libido was suddenly making an unwanted appearance due to this fair haired man.

John wasn't sure how to phrase that he was a merman without it sounding strange, so he decided that Sherlock should just see it for himself. He motioned for Sherlock to scoot back, then boosted himself onto the lip of the rock. His face flamed as he heard Sherlock gasp. He looked into the water and did his best to avoid eye contact.

Sherlock slapped a hand to his mouth after the gasp escaped him. When John had motioned for him to scoot back, he was confused. When John boosted himself up, he was a little excited. Okay. _A lot_ excited. But when he looked downwards to check him out, he had been flabbergasted. He had no legs. Instead, there was a long, brown, shining tail. He reached out to touch, but drew his hand back when John flinched. Without making eye contact, John motioned for him to touch his fin.

Sherlock's hand shook as he ran a finger down the golden brown tail. John tensed up and bit his lip, but made no sound. Sherlock flattened his palm and ran it up and down. When he was expecting the fin to be rough and scaly, it was unbelievably smooth and soft. John made a noise, a soft noise, that had Sherlock's head snapping up. That was a moan. Soft as it was, there was no denying that John had just moaned as he stroked his tail. Sherlock's cock twitched.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock tried to play nonchalant, not wanting to frighten him away.

John took a deep breath. Before Sherlock had touched his tail, he was worked up. He wasn't sure how he was going to react, so it made him nervous. But when the prodding turned into stroking, John couldn't help but feel aroused. No one had ever touched him like that. It had felt as soothing as it was arousing. The moan had slipped out unintentionally, and he had seen Sherlock's head snap up, but Sherlock was actively ignoring it. John was grateful. "Yes, just surprised, I suppose. I've never had anyone touch my tail before."

"Shame, really. It's quite beautiful."

John blushed. "You-you really think so?"

Sherlock stroked slowly up and down on his tail. He leaned in until their foreheads were practically touching. "I do," he said softly.

John's blush grew deeper. His breathing became harder as he became more aroused. The deepness of Sherlock's voice coupled with the stroking of his tail by his firm yet gentle hand, was doing interesting things to his body. He needed space, and quickly, because all he wanted to do right now was shove Sherlock down and suck on his cock until he came down John's throat. He cleared his throat, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and scooted away from Sherlock. The distance helped, but not much. Just looking at him made him want to do dirty things to this man. He scooted to the other side of the rock, not daring to go back in the water in case Molly was hovering around. He folded his arms across his chest and drew his fin up.

"So," he said softly as he hesitantly made eye contact with Sherlock, "tell me about yourself?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Work has been absolutely insane. Any comments or critiques always welcome.


End file.
